Goodbye Sky Harbor
by badly drawn girl
Summary: Holly Hocks is not a Mary Sue, though sometimes she wishes she was. She's just a stressed out fifth year who's having a lot of problems remembering her past. It's a shame she has no trouble remembering a certain redheaded Weasley twin. [GoF, George OC]
1. Of Wilted Roses

GoodbyeSkyHarbor

Chapter One: Of Wilted Roses

    Everyone forgets things. One cannot possibly remember every event from the moment they were born until present. The important events stick out, landmarks that float to the surface and memories that speckled the early life become more condensed as we grow. Like a timeline, we specify certain occurrences to certain ages. It's how the mind works.

    Holly Hocks was in every way typical. In every way but this. Her memory worked entirely well, very well in fact, except for a void that seemed to fill her memory where ages one to five should have been. It wasn't a simple matter of not being able to remember, there simply wasn't a single trace or hint of recollection, as if someone had taken a pair of scissors and simply cut that part of her life out.

    She couldn't even remember it in dreams. And the void seemed, at times, to begin to consume Holly entirely.

    Wads of paper, old letters, legal pads, dusty-looking books, candles burned very low, a stack of teacups, a wilted rose, and a set of keys tossed carelessly on a stack of photos. So stood the cluttered desk in the corner of the room, a desk that seemed to sag with the weight of what anyone would (and everyone did) see as junk. Holly called it an organized mess, her roommates called it a disaster, and Roger would later proclaim it the workstation of a genius.

    But for now it simply served as a place for Holly to pile books as she consumed them.

    "Not studying?" Emma, one of Holly's roommates, asked.

    "Hmmm," Holly murmured in reply, turning the page and shifting positions on the bed.

    "How do you expect to pass History of Magic this year if you never open a book? A textbook."

    "Sexual favors," Holly replied curtly.

    "On Binns?! That's an image I don't need… nor do I know how you would manage it," Emma said as her forehead creased in thought.

    "I wouldn't dwell on it," this remark earned Holly a skillfully aimed book to the head.

    Upon further inspection, she saw it was the History of Magic textbook.

    "S'all it's good for anyway," she mumbled and tossed the textbook onto the floor, returning back to the book she was reading, Nine Stories by the Muggle author J.D. Salinger. A much better read, in her opinion.

    Holly was the furthest you could possibly get from the Ravenclaw stereotype. Wit and intelligence, she had both. But the know-it-all nature combined with a nasty sense of competition that the rest of her house possessed is where she fell short. Schoolwork bored her (as it would any normal person) and she preferred to read for pleasure, wizarding and Muggle books alike. Her thirst was less for knowledge and more for escape, and in between the yellowed pages and black type print she found her solace.

    Holly heard someone in the doorway clear his or her throat loudly. She ignored this and continued to read. More noise, some shuffling, and a lot of coughing. Still no response from Holly. Out of the corner of her eye, Holly noticed even Emma had pulled herself away from her schoolwork and was peering over at the doorway curiously. Finally, with the person sounding like they were hacking up their right lung, Holly let her eyes flicker briefly to the figure leaning against the doorframe.

    "Davies," she said in a monotone voice.

    "Think you could tear yourself away for a moment, Hocks? We've got a team meeting, as I'm sure you've conveniently forgotten," Roger said, clearly agitated.

    "Coming," Holly muttered, then paused, "how the hell did you just get up here?"

    "Threw myself up the first six steps and ran the rest just in case," he shrugged and headed back down the stairs. Holly threw her book on the floor and wandered downstairs where she found the rest of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team assembled haphazardly on the various sofas and armchairs in the common room. Some scowled at her, others simply looked at her with indifference, and only Cho made the effort to give her a strained smile.

    "As you all know, all Quidditch games for the year have been cancelled," Roger began, looking less than happy about admitting this small fact. "However," he continued, "this doesn't mean we're going to spend the year lazing about. I can't force any of you into practicing," again, another grimace at having to admit that, "but I strongly encourage you all to do so on your own or with a few members of the team, hell, even members of the opposing teams if you so desire. Just—just try and keep it together, will you?" Roger sounded exasperated and his teammates all nodded, more to humor him than anything else.

    Holly sighed quietly to herself, frowning a bit.

    "Don't see how you'll be missing the game, you were always late to practice, if you were even there at all," Terry Boot snapped. Holly narrowed her eyes and was about to retort when a voice broke in.

    "Nevermind the fact she's one of the best players on the team," Roger said, glaring at the younger Ravenclaw. Terry just scowled and retreated to one of the study tables on the other side of the room.

    "I don't see why you bother and stand up for me. You just make more foes that way," Holly said bitterly.

    "And I don't see why you don't stop provoking these people. Being late to practice, leaving your room a mess, skipping out on study sessions? You're asking for it," Roger returned, sitting down next to her on the couch facing the fire.

    "I'm the black sheep of Ravenclaw. There's one in every house. I just got the coveted position," she rolled her eyes. "I don't belong here, Roger. I never have," saying his first name felt strange on her tongue, the last two years on the Quidditch team had disciplined her to call him "Davies." But off the pitch, as a friend, he was Roger. Not that she saw him much off the pitch anymore.

    "But—" Roger began.

    "I don't belong anywhere. I don't mind it, though. I like being alone. Really, I do," Holly watched the flames from the fireplace dance before her, feeling a desperate desire to go and join them.

    "Which is why you go and do something as outrageous as date Marcus Flint?" Roger said with vehemence evident in his voice.

    "Yeah, well, at least he made me feel noticed. Acknowledged. Not invisible."

    "I thought you liked being invisible," he said with a smile, changing the subject slightly.

    "Most of the time, I suppose I do. But one can only carry on with that for so long."

    "I noticed," another grin.

    "Yeah, well, you're a lot more perceptive than you let on. They put you here for a reason, after all."

    "Holly Hocks, that was—" but Holly cut him off.

    "It's either Holly or it's Hocks, not both," she said tersely.

    "That is your name, you know. Both parts. Some people string them together, this thing called your 'full name,'" Roger quipped.

    "Yeah, well if your prat of an aunt suggested you be named after a plant, you might be bitter, too."

    "And holly isn't also a plant?" Roger smirked.

    "A slightly more respectable one, at least," she frowned.

    And so the conversation turned to the usual banter that the two carried on until Roger had had enough of the quips and retired to go study for the night.

    Roger Davies, she decided, was a boy of many faces. The Quidditch captain, all work and no play. The friend, concerned and compassionate. The acquaintance, someone to exchange light-hearted jokes with.

    But Holly did treasure what little they did share; she didn't have many friends. Roger was one, mostly due to Quidditch and house relations. Emma Langford and Cho Chang, the only from her own year within the house, were friendships spawned early in first form over spilled potions and trivial crushes on sixth years. Then there was Gryffindor Katie Bell, whose passion for Quidditch, easy-going nature, and excellent sense of humor had sparked post-game conversations and then amiability between the two. Perhaps oddest of all, though, was Phinius Derrick of Slytherin and she still wasn't sure where he came into the picture.

    But those were it.

    There used to be the rest of the Slytherin gang: Higgs, Pucey, Bletchley, Warrington, Montague, and Bole.

    But then again, there also used to be Marcus Flint.


	2. Foolish Love

Chapter Two: Foolish Love

    She sat, estranged from the rest of the world, in a dusty armchair pulled up next to one of the many large windows of the library. Her History of Magic textbook lay open on her lap but she wasn't even bothering to look down at it. She had her headphones on (the ones she wasn't supposed to own because they were a Muggle device her brother had enchanted) and from them, no doubt, played the usual Muggle music. Alternative, mostly. But always Muggle.

    That's what had always set her aside from her old Slytherin friends, a love for Muggle music and literature. Most of them wouldn't tolerate it.

    Afternoon light was streaming in through the window and the dark yellow sunshine caused her to squint. Bathed in that light, she looked ethereal.

    Phinius Derrick tore his eyes from her to scowl down at the book he wasn't supposed to be reading and the letter he shouldn't be writing.

    The book was "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac.

    And the letter was to her.

    _Dear Holly_,

    They weren't supposed to be friends anymore. When things had gone wrong with Marcus last year (he never understood what exactly did go wrong), that whole gang had ostracized her. Remy Montague, Cole Warrington, Miles Bletchley, Sean Bole, Adrian Pucey and, yes, he had too.

    And for a while, for months, he didn't talk to her. But he had missed her. She had always been a friend—one of the few he felt was a real friend. The rest were just there so he could feel "in" with some sort of crowd.

    And so the letters began, and the discreet exchange of books and small smiles in the halls. He didn't know for sure that the others would look down upon this; Marcus had graduated and they seemed to regard Holly with nothing more than indifference now.

    But he liked their secret. Mainly because it was theirs to keep.

Glancing down again, he began to reread the letter:

_Dear Holly,_

_    Kerouac is alright, for a Muggle author. I did enjoy his description of the jazz club that you underlined as one of your favorite parts. The way he captures the energy of the moment and the pure mayhem, the confusion of the club. I think it's the way he utilizes run-on sentences that really captures the liveliness of the night._

_    I stumbled across a book the other day that I thought I might pass along to you. Yes, it's Muggle and oddly enough I found it at the bottom of my trunk. I think my brother gave it to me a year or two ago for the train ride home from Hogwarts. It's a bunch of poems by E.E. Cummings; I found it to be pretty interesting and written in a really unique way. So I'm passing it on to you for now._

   The writing had ended there; he would write more later. Funny, he thought, he could never talk this way with anyone but her or Montague. And Montague was usually too preoccupied with appearing the role of the jokester and Quidditch buff to talk about such things as books.

    Stretching a bit, Phinius closed his book and gathered his things. He had agreed to a Quidditch scrimmage with some of the usual gang and he was looking forward to it since he hadn't been able to play in a while. He caught Holly's eye and they exchanged a small smile before he left the library and walked down to the Entrance Hall where he was joined by Cole, Remy, and Sean. Walking out into the afternoon light, the group talked animatedly about next year's Quidditch season.

    "Nasty turnout this year, not having Quidditch and all," Sean said sorrowfully.

    "Gives a bit more time to recruit for next season," Remy commented good-naturedly, "and one of us is getting captain next year."

    "There's no way anyone but you is getting captain," Cole said confidently, "and assuming you keep your nose out the books a bit, we'll be in good hands," Cole elbowed Remy playfully.

    "Yeah, well, Wood's gone but if Johnson takes over as captain for Gryffindor we're in for some trouble," Remy replied grimly.

    "If they make the Weasleys co-captains, though, we're in for a smooth year. Those half-wits won't be able to accomplish much," Phinius threw in with a grin.

    "Hufflepuff has got Diggory, pain in my ass, that is," Remy frowned, "and Ravenclaw hasn't got much of anyone. Chang is decent, and if Hocks gets her act together this year, she'll make a mean Beater…" Phinius tuned them out at this point. That's all they ever talked about, Quidditch and the latest ploy to make other people's lives a living hell. It got a bit redundant after a while.

    "Hey Phinny, you still with us?" Sean asked, poking him in the side.

    "No, not really," Phinius replied honestly, swatting Sean's hand away.

    "Had his nose in the books too long," Cole nodded enthusiastically.

    "Or got his mind on some girl—" Sean laughed.

    "Not that he could ever get her," Remy finished. Phinius smacked Remy upside the head, and fell out of step with all of them so as to tie his shoe. It was like this, often. He only ever felt in with them half the time, not really belonging at all.

    "Mail's here," Cho announced, serving herself some more toast. Holly looked up just in time to dodge the falling box that was bearing straight for her head. Roger laughed openly at the sight of her trying desperately to salvage her mail from her plate of eggs where it had been carelessly dropped by the family owl, Gulliver.

    "What'd you get?" Roger asked, leaning over to peer at the stack of letters from which Holly was picking the bits of scrambled egg.

    "Package from my brother, letter from my cousin," here Holly flipped hurriedly past a note from Phinius, "and a letter from Terence."

    "Terence Higgs, eh?" Roger suddenly looked interested, "What's he up to?"

    "Still reporting for the _Daily Prophet_ and _Quidditch Illustrated_," Holly said, scanning the letter, "and no, I'm not going to ask him to get you an autograph from Moran, Mullet, or Troy," Holly continued quickly, cutting him off before he could ask.

    "Worth a try," Roger shrugged, pouring more milk in his porridge.

    "One-track mind," Holly rolled her eyes.

    "What did Eamon send you?" Cho asked as Holly picked up the package from her brother and unwrapped it carefully. Inside the box were a copy of Sonnets of a Sorcerer and a perfect, moving model of the galaxy in a large glass ball.

    "Early Christmas present," Holly grinned.

    "So does that mean you'll be staying here for the break?" Emma pitched in.

    "Doubtful, as far as I know I'll be going home for a comfortable holiday." Upon catching the frowns on Emma's and Cho's faces, Holly scowled. "It's just the Yule Ball, you know. I'll survive missing it. Anyway, my family's throwing the usual bash and Terence will be there, and I haven't seen him for ages," Holly threw in good-naturedly. This seemed to close the argument, at least for now, and so Holly returned to studying the glass ball.

    Moments later, a ruckus broke out at one of the nearby tables and a girl shrieked loudly.

    "What's that all about?" Holly inquired, not even bothering to look up from the crystal globe.

    "Fred, or maybe George… either way, one of the Weasley twins turned Alicia Spinnet's hair into snakes," Emma said, looking bemused.

    "It's terrible," Cho nodded, with a horrified look on her face.

    "Oh? Interesting. May have to inquire on how to go about doing that trick," Holly murmured absent-mindedly, tearing open the letter from her brother.

    "He's not bad looking, you know," Emma said thoughtfully.

    "Who? Fred?" Cho asked, looking, if possible, even more horrified.

    "No! Lee," Emma said, wearing an expression of disgust at the thought of the Weasleys. Holly simply looked at the two girls, amused.

    They actually weren't all that bad, she decided as she studied the twins. Too rebellious for Emma or Cho, though, hence their general distaste for them. She chuckled again at the sight of Alicia's hair-turned-snakes, and turned back to the letter.

    "You're not going to go see Marcus over the holidays, are you?" Cho asked suddenly.

    "No. Marcus and I aren't really in contact anymore," Holly said shortly.

    "Good," Cho said under her breath. Holly just shot her a look before scowling down at the letter. She discreetly pulled out Phinius' letter and scanned the contents. Holly sighed as she got to the bottom: _Meet me by the Quidditch pitch Saturday morning; we haven't talked for ages._

    First period Charms never held much promise. Flitwick showed only a little favoritism for his own house and, for Holly, the Ravenclaws were always annoyingly alert no matter how early it was.

    "Today, we will discuss Memory Charms," Professor Flitwick announced from his perch of books. Holly's ears perked up a bit at his mention of this topic, "Memory Charms serve to modify or erase a portion of someone's memory. Most commonly, they are used on Muggles when they witness something magical. There are, of course, certain subdivisions within the charm. Some are used to entirely block the memory, others to actually remove it, and some to simply make it hazy in remembrance. All are varying degrees of the charm." By now, Flitwick had certainly managed to catch Holly's attention. She was listening attentively, hoping to hear something useful that might apply to her own memory problem.

    "The common incantation is 'Obliviate,' though adding certain incantations before or after create these varying degrees," Professor Flitwick continued, "The effects usually result in the inability of the person to remember anything at all from this portion of time. Or, in some cases, a feeling that this part of the memory had simply been entirely removed." Holly nearly fell out of her seat. She'd been so stupid to not think of this before.

    "These last symptoms were common of Memory Charms used in the time of You-Know-Who," Flitwick looked around nervously, as if the usage of that name would invoke the wizard himself. The remainder of the lecture fell short of sparking any more of Holly's interest. She was instead left to wonder how on earth all this fit together.

    That night (or rather, the next morning) at midnight, Holly had her Advanced Astronomy class. She always looked forward to these, it being one of her better classes, and really didn't mind the cold or exhaustion.

    Due to the advanced and specific nature of the class, it was rather small and was a mix of all four houses. All of the students in it were sixth years, with the exception of Holly, who had gotten special permission to be placed in the advanced class.

    "You saw Lynch's performance this year, he's a disgrace!" Holly grinned and shook her head, overhearing Roger's conversation. No doubt he was arguing with George Weasley over Quidditch again. The Slytherins in the class, meanwhile, were unusually quiet. It was unsettling her.

    "What do you think about all this, Holly?" George asked, turning to her suddenly.

    "I think it's bloody bad luck I ended up in a class with the two of you, though I suppose the prospect that I could have been stuck with Fred as well does lighten my mood a bit," she smirked, turning to look back through the high-power omnioculars.

    "Oh, but what would we ever do without your superb wit and charm?" George cried.

    "What would you do without my homework and superior knowledge is more like it," she muttered in response.

    "We'd fail this class," Roger supplied, glancing at her finished diagrams. Holly just rolled her eyes; she was used to this after all. As a friend, she'd always let Roger copy her work. And even though she hardly knew him, she would let George in on it from time to time, too.

    "So, are you going through with this whole Yule Ball nonsense?" she heard George ask.

    "Probably. Might ask Fleur Delacour or someone, you?"

    "Might go with Alicia," George responded.

    "Did you decide this before or after you turned her hair into snakes?" Holly laughed.

    "That was Fred, actually. Though I wish I had been quick enough to think of it myself," George said, shaking his head and smiling at the memory. "Are you going?" he asked Holly.

    "Nope. Home to Ireland for the holidays, but we throw a party of our own on Christmas Eve, so I'm sure I won't be missing out," she smiled.

    "Probably not," George said glumly, "where in Ireland do you live, though?"

    "County Cork, a couple miles east of Bantry, why?" she asked.

    "Oh, so you're part of that Hocks clan, are you?" he asked cheekily.

    "What does that mean?" she demanded.

    "Your family is infamously rich," Roger supplied.

    "And half of 'em were Slytherins," Remy Montague threw in. Apparently he'd been listening in on the conversation and was now looking to start trouble.

    "Doesn't say anything about character," she snapped and turned back to her diagrams. Realizing they'd hit a touchy subject, the boys backed off and went back to a safe topic: Quidditch. Holly just sighed and repeated to herself: just one week, one week until she was home.

    Holly walked quickly in the early morning light. It being Saturday, no one was up yet. She usually wasn't either, except that she had agreed to meet Phinius for a little while.

    "Morning," she yawned as she spied him leaning on one of the wooden support under the stands.

    Phinius just nodded and held out a blue, leather bound book. Glancing at the gold lettering she saw written_ 100 Selected Poems_, and below it, _E.E. Cummings_. Obviously, this was the book he'd been referring to in his note.

    "Thanks Phinny," she grinned, paging through it.

    "What happened between you and Flint?" Holly let the book snap shut as she looked up in surprise.

    "Is that why you wanted to talk?" she demanded.

    "No," he shoved his hands in his pockets, "but you never did tell me."

    "Yeah, well, I didn't tell much of anyone," she shrugged.

    "You told Cho and Emma, didn't you?" he asked, but quickly reconsidered his choice of words, "He never told us, Marcus, just told us to drop it. So I just, I don't know, was curious, really," he shifted from one foot to another.

    "You'd think I was going to bite your head off," she said, obviously picking up on his nervous movements.

    "You've been known to do so in the past," Phinius grinned.

    Holly smiled and studied the ground for a minute before responding, "Things with Marcus were always… complicated, to say the least. Neither of us were much of the romantic-type, we both got crap from our houses for seeing each other, and we were both too stubborn to ever admit being wrong. So when we convinced ourselves that we didn't feel a thing for one another, that was the end. Neither of us was going to go back on our words, no matter how tired we got of lying."

    "That explanation was pretty vague," Phinny smirked.

    "For a reason," Holly sighed, "look, I'm not too fond on thinking back on that year. Remy and Cole took to insulting me at every given chance and Marcus never did much to stop it. And with Terence gone, Miles distancing himself from everyone, and you, Sean, and Adrian pretending you didn't know me, it wasn't much help."

    "Sorry," Phinius offered sincerely.

    "Don't worry yourself about it. Listen, I've got to get going though, I'm supposed to meet up with Katie so we can play some Quidditch." Phinius nodded and gave Holly a quick hug before heading to the castle and Holly headed up to the stands to wait for Katie.


	3. Outwardly Uncomposed

Chapter Three: Outwardly Uncomposed

    Sighs of frustration emitted from Holly's corner of the library as she glared at her Potions homework. She was decent at Potions, more than decent actually, but the O.W.L.s were more stress than she needed, her Aunt Aggie was still going on about her not getting made prefect, Eamon was making annoying inquiries about her friendship with Roger, her research on memory charms was going nowhere, and all of these things, however irrelevant to Potions, were consuming her entirely.

    No matter how self-centered it was, she could only think how she'd like to worry about herself from time to time and be able to live out what made her happy instead of what pleased the rest of them.

    Sad to think she wasn't even sure of _what_ made her happy these days, her mind was too confused with what made others happy.

    Looking down at her parchment again, she attempted to focus all her energy on Potions and the essay she was supposed to be writing.

    "Wolfsbane… better mark where to find the contents, too…" Holly thought, paging through the book on her lap, "properties… let's see… it's not like they would have ever considered making me prefect, I'm not the type," the silent argument was picking up already. It wasn't a good sign. "And Eamon's being ridiculous, Roger's a friend. Honestly, it's as if he won't trust me after dating Marcus, which doesn't concern him anyway so I wish he'd bugger off. Wolfsbane, wolfsbane… oh, and what's wrong with my head?" worry creased her forehead and she sighed, throwing down her quill. A sharp pain throbbed around her temples and she leaned her head back, closing her eyes. Now was not the time for another one of these splitting migraines.

    Of course, it had been stupid to let herself fall into one of her brooding moods. They always brought on these pounding headaches.

    "I'm not cut out for this whole thinking business," Holly frowned, muttering to herself.

    "You too, eh?" a voice cut through the pain and Holly jumped a good six inches out her chair. The freckled face peering over the top of the armchair immediately appeared to regret having spoken so suddenly. "Sorry, didn't realize I'd startle you out of a reverie," George said sheepishly. Holly's headache pounded painfully with each word, making her feel like he was shouting.

    "No, it's alright," she murmured, rubbing her temples.

    "Another headache?" he asked, lowering his voice as he perched on the arm of the chair. She nodded, they'd been happening more frequently, and one had even struck a few days ago during Advanced Astronomy, though she'd taken care to ignore it and appear ever herself. But apparently at least one person had noticed the one thing she thought no one would take care to observe.

    "I just wanted to say sorry about upsetting you in class the other day."

    Holly nodded, dismissing the concern with a wave of her hand. George looked around, then dragged over another decrepit-looking, overstuffed armchair. "What's up with you?" he asked. Holly met his eyes in surprise; this was the last thing she expected.

    "Nothing. I'm just overworked, what with the O.W.L.s and all—"

    "Well, my thing is I hate everyone thinking I'm stupid. So what's your deal?" he interrupted her. She was taken aback, but only momentarily. This was, after all, George.

    "Being a loner gets tiring when people pull you out of your solitude to tell you everything you're doing wrong and nothing you're doing right," George nodded at this and for once, she felt maybe someone did understand.

    "I wish I could either do something right or just find some way to be happy, so maybe it wouldn't bother me so much. Except I feel like a real prat for thinking all this, it's rather selfish, you know," she met George's eyes again only to see him shaking his head vehemently.

    "You're 16, Holly. You're allowed to feel that way. Part of being a stressed-out fifth year, isn't it?" she smiled a bit at that, "People really do tend to dump too much on us, they assume we're old enough to bear the load. But we're not… and so sometimes, we teenagers really are at least half the victim we make ourselves out to be."

    "I s'pose," she said, looking down again. She'd like to think herself stronger than that, though. "So what's this about people thinking you stupid?" she asked.

    "Oh," he seemed a bit reluctant but then thought better of his silence, "I suppose I'm just sick of people thinking me and Fred are nothing more than troublemakers. Sure, we don't get the high marks, but it's only because we've never cared to. Our efforts are in our inventions, but I shouldn't expect people to understand. It'd be nice if they realized that 'Fred and George' are two separate people though, not a single entity."

    This last bit startled Holly a bit, she'd always thought they liked being one person, and she said so.

    "It always appeared to me you two _meant_ to appear as one person, you do encourage the image after all, always so inseparable."

    George paused to consider this, then nodded.

    "I know. But still. We are two people, different in some ways, however small."

    Holly studied him momentarily. How did he want people to understand this when he never said or did anything to exhibit his unhappiness with their assumption? But at the same time, how did she want people to understand her irritation with being forever the one who has to listen to everyone else's problem when she never spoke up?

     "Of course you're different from Fred. How do you think I, and a few others, manage to tell you apart?" she said before she could even put her most recent thoughts into words.

    "I never did understand how you could tell us apart when even our own mother seems to sometimes be unclear as to who is who," George said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

    "It's easy. The look in your eyes and your demeanor. Fred is brash, he rushes into things headfirst and without thought. You hesitate. Says volumes about you, but then again, I could be reading into things too much."

    "No, it's always how I've felt. Fred always knows what he's going after and how he's getting there. I'm a little slower on the uptake."

    "Not slow, just considerate. Of people, mostly," Holly said quietly.

    "For someone who's shared more homework than conversations with me, you seem to know an awful lot about my habits of mind," George said smirking a bit.

    "Just because I don't like crowds doesn't mean I don't watch them. Observation's an interesting thing. People are best revealed for what they are in such situations."

    "You know, you're quite a different person than the one I thought I knew. You give people the wrong impression, maybe coming off as a bit judgmental. But then, maybe we're all too thick to realize you might prefer to think and watch rather than join in. And all the while, I know there's even more depth to you. I'm intrigued," George grinned and Holly's stomach did an odd flip-flop.

    "One conversation and you've realized all this?" she asked, avoiding his eyes again. Where was this sudden shyness coming from, she wondered, though she thought she knew the answer anyway.

    "Headaches and frustration have a funny way of creating telling experiences, don't they?"

    "Yeah, yeah they do," she murmured, realizing her headache had faded considerably. She also realized this was the most she'd talked this openly to anyone since, well, since summer when she could talk to her cousins and to Terence. And oddly enough, she didn't mind having admitted so much to George. It was strange, but she thought (or did she just hope?) she'd perhaps found some understanding.

    "No, use another word, otherwise it makes us sound like we're whining," Fred said, leaning over George's shoulder as they finished off another letter to Bagman demanding their money back, and their winnings.

    "It's useless," George said, shaking his head and slipping the letter into his bag as Lee Jordan sat down across from the pair.

    "What is?" Lee asked curiously.

    "This Yule Ball business," Fred lied without hesitation.

    "Whole ordeal's got me in a right mess," George agreed, "I was going to ask Alicia but she keeps saying she wants to go with you." George added, looking at Lee.

     "She does?" he asked incredulously, his fork still halfway between his plate and his now-gaping mouth.

    "Yeah, and everyone knows Fred fancies asking Angelina, so she's off-limits of course. And Katie's been asked by some bloke in Ravenclaw, Sam Capper," George sighed.

    "The both of you are fairly popular, don't see how it could be horribly hard for you to find a date," Lee said, still looking slightly shocked about Alicia wanting to go with him, "What about Jocelyn Dorny? You know, she's on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team."

    "She has no sense of humor. And anyway, what's with you and Quidditch players?" George frowned, "there's more girls than just the few who make the teams."

    "It was just a suggestion, mate," Lee shrugged.

    "Speaking of suggestions, why don't you go with that Ravenclaw girl? The one you and Davies always copy Astronomy work off of? You're friends," Fred pointed out.

    "Holly. And she's going home for the holiday," George sighed again.

    "Rotten luck," Lee said, "Well, I've got to go do that homework for Moody's class before we go to Transfiguration so I'll see you in a bit," he waved and exited the Great Hall.

    "Did Alicia really say she wanted to go with Lee?" Fred asked after a minute or two.

    "'Course not, but he wasn't going to ask anyone if I didn't hint at something like that first," George shrugged.

    "Well that was fairly brilliant," Fred said with a wide grin.

    "Brilliant eh? Planning another prank then?" Angelina's voice broke into the conversation as she sat down in the seat Lee had recently vacated, Katie sitting next to her.

    "That or you had something to do with Lee just cornering Alicia and asking her to the Yule Ball. So which is it?" Katie asked.

    "The latter," George responded, "Alicia said yes, right?"

    "Yeah, she did," Katie confirmed and George nodded to himself, and allowed his eyes to wander the Hall. They fell, not too surprisingly, on Holly. Their talk on Saturday had surprised him; her good intentions, perceptiveness, and concern for most everyone but herself was quite contrary to the judgmental, arrogant misfit people made her out to be.

    "Your silence is unsettling, George," Katie's voice startled him out of his thoughts and she smiled, following his line of vision, "I saw you two hitting a bludger around yesterday, didn't know you were practicing Quidditch with her, or that you were friends for that matter," Katie remarked.

    "We're acquaintances," he shrugged.

    "She's a great person when you get to know her, huh?" Katie said offhandedly.

    "Makes you wonder why she ever went out with Flint," Angelina said, flipping through the mail that had just landed next to her plate.

    "I'd forgotten about that," George frowned. Katie looked like she was about to say something, but shut her mouth again as a large amount of laughter erupted from the Ravenclaw table. The four Gryffindors looked around and located the source of noise as they spotted Roger Davies with his arm thrown casually around Holly Hocks' shoulders as Cho Chang and Emma Langford leaned over Roger's shoulder to laugh over some letter he'd received. Angelina and Fred shrugged and went back to talking about things that were going to be on their Transfiguration exam that day and Katie left to go investigate the episode with Holly and the rest, leaving George feeling strangely envious of Katie, Roger, Emma, and Cho's amity with Holly. He shook his head and tuned in to what Fred was saying about half-transfigured cows and listened half-heartedly until Katie returned.

    "Well, that was interesting," she grinned. George shot her a questioning look and she continued.

    "Seems Holly's brother, Eamon, suspects her close friendship with Roger is more than a friendship. And you know Eamon Hocks, always has been protective over Holly. He wrote Roger a letter that bordered threatening. Quite amusing, really," Katie nodded, "especially when he said any 'impure intentions' would finish with Roger being 'disemboweled'."

    "I never knew Eamon was her brother. He was a real git, that one," George remarked.

    "Well, they're nothing alike. Holly being so quiet and Eamon so brash, him so tall and she so short. Her in Ravenclaw and him in Slytherin. All they share really is that bloody sarcasm and accompanying smile." George grinned at that.

    "More bark than bite," he murmured. Katie just nodded as she flipped absentmindedly through her own mail. But judging by the wrenching in his heart every time he looked over and saw Roger's arm still around Holly's shoulders, he couldn't help but think that Holly Hocks was anything but harmless.


	4. Speechless

A BIG thank you to Holly [aka Fuzzy Elf] without whom I would have no motivation or self-esteem when it comes to fan fiction. It's only due to her relentless nature that I got this chapter out. And my main character also happens to be her namesake

Chapter Four: Speechless

    It snowed heavily through Wednesday night and into the next morning, much to the delight of the students. Due to the upcoming Christmas holiday, the workload was a bit lighter and so that afternoon the common rooms and corridors were mostly empty of students, the majority of the action being outside and concerning large amounts of snowballs. Holly took the time to fall asleep in her empty dorm room with her headphones softly playing the usual Muggle music.

    With her music on, she remained in a state halfway between reality and dreaming, the music lacing in and out of foggy images. She saw her house, and her brother (though much, much younger than he was now), she saw dark figures whispering at night, and then she awoke to a pounding headache. These images, of course, were familiar. She saw them often, ancient memories. But never did she find any memories earlier than these, earlier than eleven years ago. She closed her eyes again, ignoring the sharp pain in her temples, and concentrated, trying as she had so many times before to summon any recollection of that past, of her parents. The pain only worsened until she was dizzy and could think of nothing other than the pounding in her head. She felt her nose begin to run and put a hand up to it, only to find her nose bleeding. Stumbling into the bathroom, she grabbed a towel and stared at her image in the mirror. Her reflection showed the fear in her eyes and the crimson stain against her pallid skin.

    Holly sat down on the cold marble floor and sighed. She felt weak and her hands shook as she held the towel in place. She knew there was a simple explanation for these occurrences, that should she just leave this memory block alone, the pain would stop. She was actually quite afraid of what she would see.

    But Holly was stubborn, too. She knew there had to be a reason for why this would seem so important to her. There were reasons why no one discussed what had become of her parents. The Hocks' never even told the papers, leaving any precise information out of the obituary, and simply telling everyone that they did not want the information released until the children of Aidan and Fey Hocks were of age.

    And so the children had been left to their own devices and Holly had always imagined her parents' death as something beautifully tragic. Eamon had been more practical, insisting it must be something absolutely horrid and gruesome for them not to be told. It became a morbid fascination to them, part of the rather vague and mysterious history of Aidan and Fey Hocks, people which both of them barely knew.

    But she was now 16, and he was 22. Were they not old enough to know? She often wondered it, and the thought surfaced again. Perhaps this year, this holiday, this time she'd know and she could stop torturing herself over what she didn't know, or perhaps, didn't remember.

    Holly threw a glance around her dorm room once again, attempting to locate any other items that she'd want to bring home for the holiday.

    "This room looks awfully strange without your mess covering one fifth of it," Cho observed with a laugh as she took a seat on the window ledge.

    "I half miss it already," Emma agreed from her spot sprawled on Holly's bed.

    "I'd be careful what you say, you'll be singing a different tune in two weeks when me _and_ my mess have returned," Holly laughed.

    "Only when I want to borrow your copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray and we find it hidden among the folds of your Quidditch uniform, which was under the dresser instead of in it, next to my copy of last year's History of Magic textbook that you borrowed, brought home on accident, and brought back after summer holiday only to forget to give it back once again; only then, will I regret having said I'd miss the mess," Emma said in an almost lazy manner. Holly cracked a wry grin.

    "But that's half the fun of rooming with Holly, it's like Christmas everyday. You get to find things you'd thought you'd lost for good hidden in her mess," Cho laughed.

    "Speaking of which," Holly said, picking up a dusty book off of the top shelf of her dresser and tossing it next to Emma, "it's your Potions textbook that I borrowed two months ago," Holly said nonchalantly as she rifled through the papers on her desk.

    "So when does the train leave? Tomorrow evening?" Cho asked.

    "Mm-hmm," came Holly's muffled response as she tried to pull a stack of books out from under her bed, "though I'm probably the only person boarding it," she sighed.

    "Don't tell me you're regretting your decision now. You've got an awful sense of timing, Holly," Emma groaned.

    "I know, but it's too late now so I'll just go home. It's probably for the better anyhow," Holly replied, still rummaging under the bed.

    "What's brought on this change of heart? I thought you were dying to return home and see Eamon, Terence, and the whole crowd," Cho frowned.

    "I was. I mean, I still am, too. I just…" Holly faltered.

    "Wanted to go to the Yule Ball with George Weasley?" Emma suggested lazily. Holly started at that, managing to thwack her head on the wooden frame of her bed as she was still searching for clothes under it.

    "I'll take that as a yes," Emma laughed.

    "I hate you," Holly grimaced as she wriggled out from under the bed and sat up, rubbing the back of her head, "am I that easy to read?"

    "Quidditch practice with him on Sunday—" Emma started.

    "And Tuesday—" Cho continued.

    "And studying with him all Wednesday night." Emma finished.

    "I like talking to him," Holly shrugged.

    "He's not going to the Yule Ball with anyone at all, you know," Emma said quietly.

    "I know," Holly played with the hem of her pyjama shirt.

    "You have to say goodbye to him tomorrow. Find him before you leave and whatnot," Cho said thoughtfully.

    "I have to, do I? And this is according to which romance novel?" Holly laughed.

    "All of them. And I think he'd want to see you off anyway," Cho shrugged. Holly looked thoughtful as the other girls decided to call it a night and climbed into their beds. Pulling herself into her own and closing the curtains, she smiled a bit. It was still as a pleasant a thought as ever to know she'd be home at this time tomorrow.

    The following evening, Holly found herself red in the face and breathing heavily as she attempted to drag her ridiculously heavy trunk down one of the corridors.

    "Oh curse these rules about no magic in the corridors," she groaned.

    "Need some help?" someone behind her asked, obviously choking back laughter. As if she needed to guess who it was.

    "Not if you're going to laugh at me," Holly frowned as she turned around to face George.

    "I think I can manage that," he smirked as he picked up one end of the trunk, Holly grabbing the other.

    "So do you enjoy stalking me in your free time or are you blessed with the ability to always show up at the right time?" she inquired.

    "Neither actually, I wanted to say goodbye to you and Katie said you'd just headed down to the Entrance Hall with your trunk."

    "Simple enough," Holly shrugged. The two walked mostly in silence down the corridors and it was almost unsettling to Holly. Usually it was a lack of time, not words, that limited their conversations.

    Arriving in the Entrance Hall, she and George set down the trunk next to a few others that lined the halls and stood awkwardly. George sighed and sat down on the trunk, Holly following suit.

    "I'll write you," George said with a nod before he took another deep breath, "I find it quite bizarre, words are failing me. That never happens," he said with a smirk.

    "Perhaps I've stunned you into silence with my charm and beauty," Holly suggested.

    "That would be an understatement." Holly looked up only to meet George's gaze. He leaned forward suddenly, pressing his lips gently on hers in a brief kiss. As he pulled away, her eyes fluttered open and she saw him stand up suddenly.

    "I'll see you in two weeks," George said quickly and then he was gone, back up the stairs. Holly shook her head and pulled on her jacket, checking quickly that Emma had brought down her cat as promised. Then she headed out into the blistering cold to wait for the carriage that would take her and the few other students to Hogsmeade Station.

**_Reviews are nice. grins_**


	5. Familiar Unfamiliarity

    Took me a damn long time, I know. Hopefully some of you who said you liked this fic are still around to read this chapter. I'll try and get the next one out faster. Reviews help that cycle along. grins

Chapter Five: Familiar Unfamiliarity

     The sky had shed all its color by the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into Platform 9 ¾ much later that evening, as clouds masked the stars and moon making for an unusually dark night. The platform was considerably less crowded this year, as it appeared only about seven other students had come home for the holidays.

     Holly was the last one to head through the barrier into King's Cross Station and she immediately found herself gazing around the packed train station in despair, her face searching the crowds of Muggles for some indication of what she should do now. It had worked out, of course, that Holly had forgotten to send an owl to her family asking for someone to get her from the station. So now she was left with the arduous task of dragging her trunk, her overstuffed tote bag, and the wicker basket containing her tomcat, who was currently yowling at the top of his lungs, to the nearest Wizard-populated area so that she could find a fireplace connected to the Floo Network. Of course, this meant heading to Diagon Alley, and considering the weight of her trunk, Holly was not looking forward to the trek. Finding a baggage cart, Holly was able to wheel her things to the outside of the station where, after returning the cart, she promptly perched on the edge of her trunk and kicked at the ground a bit. She went on like this for a good ten minutes, but upon realizing this was getting her no closer to finding a way home, she stood up and stretched a bit, stifling a yawn. Holly watched with interest as an old man wearing robes of midnight blue hobbled to the curb. It always amused her to see members of the wizarding community who didn't give the faintest hoot about Muggle security and, thus, didn't bother to mask their identity. The old man looked right, then left as though he were about to cross the street, but instead threw up his left hand. With a resounding BANG a rather hideous-looking purple, triple-decker bus appeared in front of him. Holly stared for a second before mentally reprimanding herself. The Knight Bus, a simple solution to this whole problem and she hadn't even considered it. She dragged her things over to the curb with some difficulty.

    "Bantry, Ireland," she panted as she deposited a number of sickles into the conductor's ready hands. He helped Holly store her things before she collapsed onto one of the beds on the bottom level, near the front. She was just in time as the bus took off with another deafening BANG and was hurtling down a pot-holed and rather narrow city street.

    "I'm Stan Shunpike, by the by, and I'll be your conductor for the night. Ernie Prang, the driver," the old man sitting at the wheel nodded at this, "shouldn't be too long of a wait, only about three people or so ahead of you in the queue," the conductor, apparently named Stan, supplied. He didn't look much older than Holly, 19, 20 at most, she decided. Settling cross-legged on her bed, she pulled out the book she had started to read on the train.

    "'Choo readin'?" Stan questioned, his Cockney accent unmistakable.

    "I Capture the Castle. Muggle book," Holly supplied, flipping through to find the point she'd left off at before becoming engrossed in the book.

    "'Eadin' 'ome for Christmas?" he spoke up again. Tearing her eyes from the page, Holly studied his questioning face. He looked bored, Holly thought, like he'd rather be the one getting off the bus than letting people on. She put down the book and gave him a smile.

    "Yeah, school's just let out for the holidays."

    "'ogwarts?" he asked, nodding at the battered Ravenclaw insignia on the side of her trunk, "Never went there meself," he continued in a conversational manner, "went to school in Whitechapel, public education an' all. Dropped out before me sixth year to take a job, though," Stan seemed unabashed at supplying this information.

    "My cousin Jem went to Whitechapel," she nodded, tactfully leaving out the bit about Jem getting kicked out of Hogwarts first.

    "'Choo say your name was?"

    "I didn't, but it's Hocks. Holly Hocks, I mean," she grimaced as she fumbled over the words. But Stan took no notice.

    "Jem Hocks, eh? I knew 'im. Never too popular with the kids, 'e wasn't. Lot of rumors 'bout his family circulatin' at the time. At the Ministry now, ain't 'e? You plannin' on workin' there too?" Holly frowned; it had been her family's influence that had gotten Jem that job. One he hardly deserved.

    "No, I want to be a journalist," Holly said, still frowning. "What were those rumors about?" she couldn't help but ask.

    "Somethin' 'bout his aunt and uncle 'avin' been in with You-Know-Who, family being all into the Dark Arts, those sorts of things," Stan peered out the window carelessly. Holly almost laughed at the casual manner in which he spoke; Stan hardly seemed to realize that by default of Jem being her cousin, this was actually her family he was talking about.

    "Well, 'ere we are, just outside Bantry," Stan said as the bus skidded to a shuttering stop. "I'll be lookin' for your name in the papers soon, as the author of the articles, I mean," Stan said with a wink after he pulled her trunk off the bus. And with another BANG the Knight Bus was gone.

     Holly heaved a huge sigh of relief as she gazed at the large Hocks mansion. Fumbling with the clasp of her bag, she shoved around its contents impatiently, her fist eventually closing around the cold brass of her housekey. Picking up the wicker basket that held her cat, she left her trunk at the bottom of the front steps. Letting herself into the house, she was immediately bombarded with voices and noises coming from every direction. Obviously, no one in the house had any consideration for how late at night it was. Smiling to herself, Holly headed down the corridor in front of her to the very end, where she stuck her head through a doorway on the left.

    "Hullo Tilly," she grinned at the house elf who was busy chopping onions. "Where's Chris?"

    "Mr. Christopher is in the front parlor," the elf smiled back. "And it pleases Tilly to see the young mistress home," but Holly was already halfway out the door at that point.

    "CHRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIS, HELP ME BRING IN MY TRUNK!!!" Holly yelled, running past the door of the parlor and back out the front door. Moments later, her tow-headed American cousin emerged from the door, but his smile she thought so permanent was missing and his welcome was void of the energy that usually accompanied their greetings.

    "What's up?" Holly asked, the grin falling promptly from her face.

    "Aunt Aggie's in one of her moods," Chris replied gloomily, kicking at the stone steps. "She's been terrorizing all of us for days," he said with a grimace.

    "Oh, you can't be wishing you were back in Boston already?" she teased, but he didn't smile.

    "It's not funny, Holly. You should hear some of the things she's said to Eamon about…" he faltered, "well, he'll tell you I'm sure. Let's get your trunk inside, I'm freezing," Chris finished. Holly didn't argue because she was quite cold herself, but all relief of being home had quickly drained from her body.

    The mansion had been left to her father, Aidan, upon the death of Old Hindley Hocks. But Aidan had died, too, and the estate had passed on to Aggie who, as she had no children of her own and no plans for any, would then pass it on to Eamon. However, it seemed Aunt Aggie had no plans of bequeathing the mansion to her nephew anytime soon and so, she reigned supreme for the time being.

    But as the heavy oak door closed behind Chris and her and enveloped the two in the noise of innumerable voices, Holly couldn't help but think nothing could damper her spirits. There was something decidedly comfortable about the chaotic atmosphere of the Hocks household.

    "There's a letter for you on the dresser in your room. It arrived just a little bit ago so I guess whoever sent it knew you'd be here," Chris supplied as they reached the door to Holly's room. "So how's the missing past thing going? I haven't heard anything since you last wrote, did you find out anything yet about your parents'…" Chris shifted his feet uncomfortably and coughed, "about, about their death?" he finished.

    "You know, I think it's a block," Holly observed.

    "What's a block?" Chris asked, falling backwards onto the bed, hands folded behind his head.

    "The missing memory thing," Holly said with a hint of exasperation, "I catch bits of it now and again, they're all jumbled and don't make sense but that at least means that part of my memory can't really have been removed like I first thought. Just blocked," Holly explained. Chris propped himself up on his elbows and knitted his eyebrows in thought.

    "Holly, it takes powerful magic to disable a memory block like that and who's to say it would even be a good idea to do so? I mean, what if there's something really awful being repressed, something that could totally change who you are, change your entire perception," Chris paused, catching the dirty look Holly was sending him, "I just mean, is it really safe to meddle with all this?" Chris asked earnestly.

    "I think I'm making myself sick with all of it, to be honest," Holly sighed.

    "You look it, you're getting scrawnier all the time," he poked her ribs, "that can't be healthy." Holly frowned and swatted at him with a pillow. A silence then settled on the two and Holly pulled absentmindedly at a loose thread on the bedspread.

    "Eamon wondering where I am?" she asked with a bit of a grimace.

    "What do you think? He put himself in a right fit about you taking the Knight Bus in the first place, and then you arrived later than expected. But Aunt Aggie wouldn't hear of anyone coming to get you and since I s'pose you wouldn't hear of it either, it all works out then, doesn't it?"

    "S'pose it does," Holly said, pulling herself off the bed, "Well, better see to that darling brother of mine."

    Chris said something about a game of pool with their cousins Allister and Jem in the billiards room and strolled out, hands in his pockets. Holly threw a glance around the room and paused to examine the envelope on her dresser. Months of watching him copy her Astronomy homework had trained her to recognize his handwriting and so there was no doubt this letter was from George.

    Biting her lip to keep herself from smiling too much, Holly slid her finger under the flap of the envelope, breaking the seal. She read:

_    It's only been a few hours since you've left and in a few more, you'll have arrived home to the family I know you couldn't wait to see. I can't say I'm happy to have seen you gone, I'm not quite sure I'll be able to get through the homework Sinistra assigned over break on my own (only joking). After all, how am I going to get through the holiday without at least one biting quip about the length of my hair (even though I know you wouldn't change it for the world)? _

_    There's a nightingale singing outside somewhere below my window and I can't help but wonder what it's doing so out of place, in Scotland and in the middle of winter. Though, I suppose, with all the mishaps with magic that go on here, there's no reason not to assume it's a product of some spell gone wrong. But I think it reminded me of you, because I wasn't looking for it, but its song pleasantly surprised me all the same._

_    I'll be thinking of you (and that kiss)._

    Holly blushed furiously at the last line, though she knew that he probably wrote it with the intention of causing her that exact reaction. The fact that he hadn't signed it made her feel content, as though it was just part of one of their conversations, that it was spoken in passing and not in parting. She reread the letter again, noting that the jabs seemed only half-hearted and some parts seemed almost unfinished, having left much unsaid. But they'd only known each other beyond copying homework for a week, saying anything more would make it all seem cheap, like it didn't mean half as much as Holly was hoping it would, in time.

    Holly had never fancied herself a romantic, but she was starting to think maybe she'd misjudged the capacity of her emotions.

    Shaking her head with a bit of a grin, Holly set the letter back down and wandered back down the corridor, entering into the large library, situated just a few doors down from her own room.

    "Found your way home, did you?" A voice spoke up from a large armchair next to the fire. A man of 22 rose from the chair, his black hair falling carelessly across his freckled face and casting his green eyes into shadow. "I was beginning to hope you'd died in some unfortunate train accident," he explained, enveloping Holly in a hug.

    "Very funny, Eamon. Though I s'pose that'd work out nicely for you, having the whole inheritance to yourself and all?" she quipped.

    "Would work out even better if Aunt Aggie mysteriously disappeared one tragic day while running errands," Eamon said darkly.

    "Ah, yes, Chris said something about her being a real terror lately?"

    "The usual about how worthless our parents were, but yet still failing to supply any useful information about their deaths."

    "Bit morbid, aren't you? Obsessing over the death of your parents?" Holly grinned.

    "You do the same, don't you? Anyway, who wouldn't obsess when it seems something horrible and fascinating happened to them?"

    "You're both sick, you know that?" A voice spoke up from the doorway. Leaning against the doorframe, stood the lank figure of Terence Higgs. "Found something that might interest you," he handed Eamon a newspaper cutout and pulled Holly into a single-armed hug, "Just got in last night," he supplied at Holly's questioning look, "but I've been helping your brother with this cause all autumn. You know, an obsession with the lives of your dead parents, rather than their actual deaths, might be slightly healthier."

    "Healthier, but hardly interesting," Eamon grinned, "anyway, listen to this: _a group of Death Eaters rumored to be running headquarters from the southeast area of Ireland…Ministry confirms to have evidence to support this claim, but has not given any further detail…_blah, blah, blah, _inhabitants in this area should be on the lookout for suspicious behavior…_ nothing more of interest. When's this from, Terry?"

    "January of 1980, so you think it fits into this whole story?"

    "Stan—I mean, the conductor on the Knight Bus, said something about people at Whitechapel thinking Jem's aunt and uncle were Death Eaters. I figured he meant Aidan and Fey, but didn't see the significance in that," Holly said, confused.

    "You call your parents by their first names?" Terence looked taken aback.

    "Well, I never really knew them, did I?" Holly shot back.

    "It's still weird," Terence said, shooting her a disgusted look, "and why, may I ask, is people thinking your parents were Death Eaters not significant?"

    "Well, people tend to think anyone out of Slytherin house is evil, don't they?" Eamon grinned. "No surprise they think we're in the thick with the Dark Arts. But none of our family really is… except for maybe Great Uncle Declan, but he always was a bit batty."

    "So remind me again why you had me search all of the Daily Prophet records for mentions of Death Eaters in Ireland?" Terence asked, scratching his chin.

    "I've got a sneaking suspicion our parents were spies for someone on the other side, and so they would appear to be Death Eaters to the public eye in that case, wouldn't they?" Eamon grinned, but the smile fell from his face within moments as the sound of someone shuffling up the stairs became audible, "Holly, go to bed. You don't want to have to deal with her tonight." Holly grimaced at the thought of Aunt Aggie finding her still awake; she'd surely get a thrill out of criticizing every aspect of Holly. Slipping quietly through a door behind an old mirror in the corner of the library, she made her way through a thin passageway and reentered her room through a door in the back of the dresser. Thoroughly exhausted, Holly didn't bother to change and instead, curled up under her comforter and promptly fell into a dreamless sleep.

    When Holly awoke, dawn's pink fingers were reaching across the sullen sky and igniting the colorless snow outside. She'd been asleep since the early afternoon of the previous day and was now feeling more exhausted than before and in possession of a bad headache, to boot. Holly watched the patches of sunlight on her floor shift and move across the hardwood. Sitting up, she stretched and nearly toppled out of bed. Getting unsteadily to her feet, she walked over to her trunk, flipping the latch and lifting the heavy lid. She began to pull out the items she'd thrown on top of the piles of clothes and books, things that had been gathering dust in her dorm room that she had decided were best brought home. Picking up a number of parchment sheets she had swiped from her desk in a last-minute rush, her hand froze as a wilted rose slid out from somewhere within the pile, dragging with it a heavily-folded note.

    The rose awakened a thousand memories, all shifting and fighting for attention in Holly's mind. But it reminded her most of all of what she already knew the note read, words she had memorized in trying to understand their meaning.

_I am finally seeing that I was the one worth leaving._

_-Marcus_

    The note had never been discarded or locked away, as had many of the other artifacts of her and Marcus' relationship had as it had been one that had drawn the most blood, but then again, he'd probably intended that. Most of their relationship had centered around them purposefully trying to hurt each other, though neither ever really admitted that the reason they could cause so much hurt to each other was because they actually cared about one another quite a bit. So they went back and forth: Marcus cheating on Holly once or twice; Holly making Marcus jealous as much as possible; the two constantly lying to one another, all in all a rather disastrous course of events. And then it had ended, on a rather rough note, and Marcus had the last word, of course. The benefit of which, had just come clear to Holly.

    The Flint's always had a bit of that pureblood mania about them, enough for Holly to suspect that through Marcus, she might just be able to find something out about her parents being possible Death Eaters. Whether Marcus wanted to indulge the information, however, would be another story.


	6. The Strings That Tie to You

Author's Note: So it's been about a year since I've updated this. I've been sitting on this chapter for a long while, but have decided to post it even though it is a bit short. Hope it's enjoyable and this time I really do think chapter seven will follow quickly as I, for once, already know what it will include.

If you like my writing, I tend to post in-progress chapters and stand-alones on my fic livejournal, username (underscore)badly(underscore)drawn(underscore)

Check it out if you'd like.

**Chapter Six: The Strings That Tie to You**

It took three days for Holly to receive a response from Marcus by Owl Post. The letter was short: nothing more than a demand to meet him at the old guillotine block in Knockturn Alley the following afternoon. This made things rather complicated as the Hocks' Christmas Eve party started at 6:00 that evening and would go on for hours, but Holly figured that with all the bravado surrounding preparations she could steal away without having to explain to Eamon where she was headed.

So, at promptly 3 o'clock the next afternoon, Holly slipped upstairs to the library and shrugged on her warmest jacket before grabbing a handful of Floo powder and walking into the cold flames. She exited from a fireplace in a seedy secondhand Dark Arts store (as if there was much else in Knockturn Alley) and continued briskly to the agreed meeting place while trying to brush away the soot that had settled on her and her clothes.

Holly walked briskly, turning corners and hurrying through alleys. She'd never been too fond of this area and had only been here once or twice. It was apparent she was dreadfully lost. Beating at the soot on her jacket in frustration, she hardly noticed the imposing shape of the guillotine rising up in front of her, nor did she notice the tall, dark-haired boy grinning menacingly at her until she'd walked right into him.

"You never were one for grace. Or punctuality for that matter," Marcus leered as Holly stumbled backwards.

"And you were never one for manners," Holly replied, sticking her chin out defiantly. But for all her best efforts, she couldn't help but feel vulnerable and so small in his presence. It wasn't that he made her feel like nothing; no, he'd always made her feel to be the most important being breathing on this Earth. But Holly had always known her emotions were entirely at his mercy. He never let her forget, after all.

"So, trying to rekindle an old flame? Perhaps you're tired of the new plaything you've acquired. I imagine he must be a terrible bore, this Weasel of yours. And full of fleas, to be certain," Marcus' eyes flashed in a way that did not match his casual and biting words.

"Word does travel fast," Holly said through gritted teeth.

"Word usually does when someone of decent reputation stoops to a certain level. Tell me, what do you get out of this… relationship of yours? Do you do it for charity, maybe? Merlin knows there's no other reason to date a Weasley. Or is the sex just terribly exciting?"

"Don't be so dramatic, Marcus, it doesn't suits you," Holly shot back, "Sex is the last thing on my mind."

"It wasn't when you were with me," Marcus smirked, his eyes mocking her.

"It was hardly you I was lusting after. As I recall, you got rather uppity about a fascination I had with a certain Gryffindor goalkeeper."

"Yes, well it was unbecoming and, may I say, unoriginal. You were below even his standards."

"But you dated me."

"Only because I heard you'd put out." Marcus' words stung and had bite of which even Holly didn't think he was aware.

"Well, I didn't and left you rather unsatisfied, as I remember it. Anyway, this isn't why I'm here, I hardly want to rekindle anything involving you. I want to talk about the Death Eaters." Marcus' brows shot straight into his hairline at this last comment.

"Are you crazy, talking about this here? Now?" The panic was evident in Marcus' voice.

"Afraid, Marcus? I didn't think it possible," Holly beamed, sensing she'd gained the upper hand. Marcus scowled and grabbed Holly by the arm, steering her away from the center of the square and towards an alley that was sheltered from the wind and more inconspicuous.

"Why?" he demanded before she had the time to catch her breath.

"My parents, Marcus. Were they Death Eaters?" Holly demanded, throwing all caution to the wind. Marcus looked taken aback once again, but quickly recovered.

"I can't be sure, but I thought I heard my parents mention them once. Called them traitors and a good deal of other things I'm not prepared to repeat," Holly looked up and noticed the look on Marcus' face seemed to have softened.

"You thought you heard? That's a lot of detail for something you thought you heard."

"I definitely heard," he snarled, the kindness having vanished from his face entirely, "and I was none too surprised. I always knew that your family was a disgrace to both sides of the cause." Holly rolled her eyes.

"Spare me the disgraceful remarks, I'm just trying to piece together a visibly missing part of my family history."

"Look, Holly, some things are better left forgotten. There's probably good reason you can't remember that portion of your life. Let sleeping dragons lie, right? You're just going to end up hurting yourself," Marcus' face had again developed a compassionate look.

"O.K., make up your mind, will you? Either be considerate or be an ass, but I'm not in the mood for this seesawing," her face distorted into an ugly scowl.

"Holly, just leave it," his still bore that annoying look of concern. "Look, I've got to get back or the usual Flint family and entourage will be at my neck. And Izzie's facing the firing squad tonight, can't leave her to that alone," Marcus said giving Holly a quick kiss goodbye on the cheek.

"Izzie?" she asked, a bit dizzy from the unexpected contact from Marcus.

"Isolde Orguelleuse, you remember her from school don't you? She's come home with me to meet mother. Hopefully she'll fair better than you did in the first meeting," Marcus explained with a lopsided grin.

"Oh, new girlfriend, I see. Well, I'll be going too then, can't be late for the Christmas Eve party. Nice seeing you Marcus," Holly shoved her hands in her pockets and quickly scampered back towards Diagon Alley, only faintly hearing Marcus yell after her.

"Leave it be, Holly! You'll only make things worse!"

Back in her room, Holly found she still had time until the bulk of the guests arrived. She seized the moment to lounge lazily on her bed, staring glumly at the ceiling and rubbing her hand against the lines of her corduroy bed cover. Izzie and Marcus, that was sweet, she thought. Izzie was a smart girl, arrogant but in an oddly likeable way. Maybe the thought of them just bothered her because she'd heard nothing from George since that first letter. But she knew that wasn't it. The nagging feeling was coming from the memory of the Christmas of two years ago. The one she'd spent with Marcus. It bothered her because it was a strangely happy one. Funny, she thought. When she recalled their relationship, what came to mind was the fights and the tears and the cold, uncaring look in his dark eyes. It took something else to trigger the memory of those laughs. Something tangible. And that was the honest reason Holly kept her room such a mess: she couldn't bear the loss of any one artifact that might allow her to forget some seemingly useless memory. The wads of paper, old letters, notebooks, dusty-looking books, candles burned very low, and stacks of teacups littering her desk reminded her of late nights spent reading, writing, dreaming as the girls in her dormitory spent the night unaware of its beauty. The stacks of photos, the wilted rose, and the sprig of holly were the embodiment of her friends, of Marcus, of Phinny.

Roger called it genius because it was. Holly had learned the value of memory and she would not let it go. You may remember the bad, but everything was beautiful once and that is worth holding on to the ugly.


End file.
